


Songbird

by astraplain



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6576337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraplain/pseuds/astraplain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt’s senior project for NYADA was inspired by the fairy tale, “The Nightingale”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Songbird

An elegant man in an expensive suit stood in his garden, leaning on a cane and listening to the song of a plain brown bird. In the background was a mansion of grey stone, and through the windows, uniformed staff could be seen working.

“Keep singing, my little songbird,” the man encouraged when the bird fell silent. A flutter of wings as the bird moved closer and the song began again.

A tapping on the French doors interrupted the moment and the man turned, reluctantly motioning for the new arrival to join him.

“Did you get it, Boss?” the woman asked, her eyes fixed on the cell phone in the man’s hand.

“It should be enough.” The man’s mood had changed abruptly, his posture straightening and the soft smile he’d worn while listening to the bird transformed into something harder. “We’ll make a fortune.”

“Excellent,” the woman’s smile was as cold as the man’s and they returned to the house without a thought for the bird, now silent and watching.

“That could have been the end of the story,” the narrator said, stepping out of the shadows to the edge of the stage while the set went dark. “Instead, it was the beginning.”

The lights came up to show a man pushing a large birdcage across the garden to the elegant man. The bird was beating frantically at the bars, eyes wild.

“Where do you want'em Boss?” the man asked.

“In there for now.” He gestured with the cane, then hesitated before adding, “put the cage by a window.”

Without bothering to watch his instructions carried out, Boss lifted his phone to his ear and said,“It’s done. Be here at eight tomorrow, and tell design we’ll need some embellishments; the real thing is too plain.”

The lights faded, leaving only the silhouette of a caged bird. I

“Despite being caged, the bird loved the man, so he sang.” The narrator stepped into the light again, her simple black dress unadorned and her face concealed by a matching lace mask. “The man sent recordings of that song to his workers and within a week they sent him a prototype.

The lights sprang up to show the boss sitting at a desk with a glittering toy bird in front of him. The woman from earlier stood on the opposite side of the desk. The boss leaned forward to press a button and an imitation of the real bird’s song played. It was pretty, but nowhere near as lovely as the real thing.

In the corner, the real bird was huddled on the floor of the cage. He looked up when the song started and chirped questioningly, but the man ignored him so he fell silent long before the music stopped.

"You’ve done it,” the man told his employee. He rose from the desk and shook the woman’s hand. “It’s marvelous. We’ll make a fortune.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll tell them to start production immediately.” She turned to go but the boss stopped her.

“Let the bird out before you go. We have more than enough recordings; he’s no longer needed.”

As the bird chirped in confusion and protest, the worker opened the cage door and pulled the bird out. With a shove he sent the creature away. Neither the woman nor her boss watched the bird go.

“Weeks passed.” The narrator glided out of the shadows again as the stage went dark. “The bird took up his usual perch and sang his heart out for the man, but he had gone to oversee production of his artificial songbird, leaving the real one without a thought. Finally, heartbroken, the little bird left, searching for someone else who would listen to his song.”

“Stop! Just stop.” The boss, in a wheelchair with his leg in a cast, waved off the man who had brought him to the garden. “Leave me alone for a while.” The boss watched as the man left, then slumped to one side, clearly exhausted. He closed his eyes as if waiting for something, but when the garden remained silent, he opened his eyes again.

“Won’t you sing to me, little bird?” he called. “I’ve missed your song.”

There was no answer and after a pause the man leaned back, wincing as he tried to get comfortable.

“They love the Golden Songbird,” the man said. “We can’t make them fast enough.” He shifted again and sighed. “I donated the prototype to a charity auction. Just before the accident, so thankfully it wasn’t damaged.” He stopped, looking around hopefully.

“Won’t you welcome me home, little bird? I’ve missed your song.” His voice lowered as he admitted, "I’ve almost forgotten what you really sound like.”

A faint rustling in the leaves at the edge of the garden drew the man’s attention and he wheeled himself forward slightly. When there was no music, the man slumped back.

“Please come back to me, little bird. I need you.”

Another rustle, this time closer, and the first tentative notes of birdsong. The man moved forward again, pained by the effort. The bird emerged from the trees and settled on the lawn, his head cocked as he studied the man.

“I’m sorry, little bird,” the man said, his voice rough with emotion. “My little bird.”

The bird moved forward until he was beside the wheelchair. He began to sing a joyous and beautiful song. After a minute, the narrator came onto the stage along with the rest of the cast, each of them joining in the song and continuing to sing as they stepped forward and bowed in turn until just the bird was left. Only then did he spread out his wings and rise.

The applause continued well past the final curtain call where they sang a shortened version of the closing song,

Backstage, the cast and crew hugged enthusiastically, delighted by the audience’s reaction to what many at NYADA had considered a risky program.

“You were spectacular,” Adam declared, giving Kurt a huge hug before presenting him with a bouquet.

“You got me feathers?” Kurt said with a delighted laugh. He gave Adam another hug, nearly clipping the stage manager with his costume.

“Watch the wings ,” Stephanie told him with a grin. “Don’t forget you owe me drinks.”

“Tomorrow night at Callbacks?”

“Hell, no. Anywhere but Callbacks. Send me a text.” She waved him off and went to help clear the stage.

“I’ve got to get out of this costume,” Kurt declared after he’d thanked his cast and crew and checked to be sure that the few set pieces and props they’d used were properly stored.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d be wearing it home,” Adam teased.

“Is this some new fantasy you haven’t told me about?” Kurt countered with a positively feral grin. “Because I could…”

“Hold that thought, Birdboy.” Cassandra smirked at them both and gave a little finger wiggle of greeting. “Unless you _want_ me to repeat whatever you were about to say back to you during our next class?” She smiled as Kurt’s mouth snapped closed and turned to Adam. “You do know you’re expected to leave after you graduate.”

“I’d miss you too much,” Adam replied, giving Cassandra his sunniest smile.

“Turn the wattage down, Beanie, I haven’t started drinking yet.” Cassandra turned her attention back to Kurt who was practically vibrating with tension while he waited for her critique of his show. “Looks like you could use one too, Birdie.” She fell silent considering, noting that they kept their eyes focused on her even as the men moved closer to each other. Eventually she took a breath and let them out of their misery.

“Passable,” she stated. “Your grand plies are still weak and whatever that step-turn-flutter thing was near the end was not something you want to repeat. Ever.” She patted his arm, “I’m not completely ashamed to claim you as my student. Now go, have a drink on me, not that I’m paying, and if you show up to my class with a hangover tomorrow, I’ll make you wish you were dead.”

She gave them another finger wiggle and left without another word.

“Wow, Adam said after a moment of recovery. "She liked it.”

“I’m simultaneously delighted and terrified,” Kurt assured him before gathering his scattered thoughts and resuming their interrupted conversation. “About the costume…”

“Why don’t we save that for when we’re home?” Adam ask, tilting his head just so and giving Kurt a meaningful look.

“I have lots of leftover feathers,” Kurt confided as he took Adam’s hand and dragged him toward the dressing room humming his songbird song as they went.

 

::end::


End file.
